" "Ah, don't trouble yerself about that, squire; I
don't--that is entirely off my mind; for now Whitticar is dead, where is
yer witnesses?"
"Whitticar dead!" repeated Stevens.
"Yes; and what's more, he's buried--so he's safe enough, squire; and I
shouldn't be at all surprised if you'd be glad to have me gone too."
"I would to God you had been, before I put myself in your power."
"'Twas your own hastiness. When it came to the pinch, I wasn't equal to the
job, so ye couldn't wait for another time, but out with yer pistol, and
does it yerself." The wretched man shuddered and covered his face, as
McCloskey coolly recounted his murder of Mr. Garie, every word of which was
too true to be denied.
"And haven't I suffered," said he, shaking his bald head mournfully;
"haven't I suffered--look at my grey hairs and half-palsied frame, decrepit
before I'm old--sinking into the tomb with a weight of guilt and sin upon
me that will crush me down to the lowest depth of hell. Think you," he
continued, "that because I am surrounded with all that money can buy, that
I am happy, or ever shall be, with this secret gnawing at my heart; every
piece of gold I count out, I see his hands outstretched over it, and hear
him whisper 'Mine!' He gives me no peace night or day; he is always by me;
I have no rest.
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